


A Tea Party for Two

by Shroombasai



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Poetic, Serial Killers, Tea, Tea Parties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:41:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26662357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shroombasai/pseuds/Shroombasai
Summary: A tea party between an adventurer and a serial killer, simple as that.Pray it could be any simpler than that.
Relationships: Amami Rantaro & Shinguji Korekiyo
Kudos: 4





	A Tea Party for Two

The soft trickling of water in the background is supposed to be soothing.

It’s supposed to be calming to me. That’s what it’s supposed to be.

But right now it’s too cloying.

It’s not even from a real waterfall, or from a sink or from rain or from a stream.

No, it’s coming from a little fake waterfall thing. Those tiny ones that run the same cup of water around and around, mindless.

Normally, I wouldn’t mind them.

Then again, normally, I wouldn’t be sitting across a serial killer.

I look up, up from the cooling jasmine tea sitting in front of me, up at a lanky figure staring at me with bright amber snake eyes. Their eyes are all that I can see in this dim room, illuminated by fairy lights. It only makes their eyes brighter. The rest of them is covered in a green like a dense forest, with some spots of bright red and a silver pocket watch, but I can only focus on the green, like moss. Wet moss floating in the tar lake that makes up the hair of the man across from me.

His mouth is covered in tar too. Tar that never leaves for anything, blacker than the lake.

He tilts his head at me, like a predator watching his prey, eyes narrowing just a little bit that makes me narrow mine in retaliation.

“ Is something the matter?”

His voice is soft, slithery. It’s that kind of voice that runs shivers down my spine, the kind you’d only hear from serial killers.

Funny.

I shake my head despite everything, and sip the disgusting yet flavourful tea. It’s good, too good, but it was made by him.

Hell if I wasn’t polite.

His eyes crinkle again, and I suppose he smiles at me. I don’t smile back. He doesn’t deserve my smile.

He has a cup in front of him as well, untouched. It’s always untouched despite being full of tea. I don’t know why he continues to serve himself tea when I watch him pour it down the drain.

A waste. A perfectly good waste of perfectly good tea.

I say nothing.

He drums his left fingers on the table, the repetitive thrum, thrum, thrum vibrating my eardrums and the wood between us.

I find it annoying. It’s annoying. He is annoying.

But I say nothing.

“ Are you enjoying this party?”

He asks me, knowing my answer. I want to say no, want to just flip this table over and wrap my metal bound fingers around his thin neck and just break the snake’s slithery throat, but I still, infuriatingly, shake my head yes.

I shake my head yes because I’d rather keep my head on.

He hums, a slow and drawn out hum, and he goes back to staring at me.

The only sound is the trickle of the water in the room, the soft and quiet breathing, the thrumming of his fingers.

I take another sip. I avoid eye contact, and I hate this.

I hate all of this.

I stare at the amber liquid pool in a clean ceramic cup as he speaks up again, the thrumming pausing for only a few moments.

“ Isn’t humanity beautiful?”

I don’t look at him. I look into my lap, at the triangle my legs form. I look at the black fuzzy carpet underneath my legs, at the fairy lights strung up against the wall.

The world is beautiful, I can say that. The world is beautiful, and I’ve touched the world with my feet, with my hands and my eyes and listened to the world. I can say with utmost confidence that the world is beautiful.

But I can’t say humanity is. I can’t say humanity is beautiful when humanity can go so, so terribly wrong.

I finally cast my eyes to the moss ridden reptile. They stare at me with blank interest, glowing in the dim lighting of fairies.

I don’t respond.

I don’t say a word, and I go back to drowning in jasmine.

The serial killer across from me laughs, a hollow, choppy laugh. It fits him, that hollow laugh. It fits him too well for me to say, and I don’t imagine anything else in my nightmares.

I finish the tea. He leans over and slides it across the table towards himself, like a predator luring its prey closer.

I watch him with dead eyes as he stands up and walks a few meters away, and stops.

“ I enjoy our time together.”

I can’t say the same for you.

“ Another time.”

Another time.

The serial killer leaves the room, and all I hear the sound of the trickling of water and soft breathing.

I hate this with every bit of my soul. I hate my time together with this vile man that doesn’t drink tea at his own tea party of two, I hate the fake waterfall and the eyes of a snake clad in jade, I hate that I just sit here and take it.

As he walks back in, I only sit there and offer a nod of acknowledgement.

Amber eyes stare into my soul, and I have sealed my fate.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Guess who couldn’t help it- 
> 
> Yep, it’s me. I did it. It’s Shoeroomba from Instagram, if you’re curious.
> 
> Anyways, this is an old one I made back in June, and it seemed good enough to have out in the wilds. I’ll make more, eventually.
> 
> Possibly.


End file.
